


Empty Nest

by Scrib_eyeSteak



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrib_eyeSteak/pseuds/Scrib_eyeSteak
Summary: Morgan is denied entry to the Summit by his mother, leaving him to hole up in some smokey tavern and the alluring, mysterious woman within...





	Empty Nest

**Author's Note:**

> So word of warning - if you've read some of my works you might pick up on some leads to what's gonna happen. If you THINK you might find that objectionable, then i'm just gonna ask you to leave now. For those that stay, I hope you enjoy - this has been in and out of works for almost half a year now, but ideas kept popping up that pushed it back.

“Jeez...how is it still this hot?” Morgan panted. He dropped off the bundle of documents onto her desk

 

“It's not so bad - not like the Plegian palace at least,” Robin answered. She finished scratching her signature on the missive before turning to face her assistant and son. “Besides, if it's so unbearable, why not take off your coat?” she asked.

 

“No way, these things are too comfy. And the fact that they’re not black means I’m not sweating myself to death,” Morgan defended their new apparel.

 

Following the defeat of Grima, the two had traded their tattered Grimleal cloaks for attire more becoming of their stations. Both now wore brilliant white cloaks that proudly emblazoned the mark of the Exalt instead of the mark of Fell, embroidered in green and gold. Robin still had her blue mantle signifying her as a grandmaster, while Morgan made do with just his badge as a Ylissean official.

 

“Well can’t argue with that,” Robin shrugged with a smile. She fully agreed with her son - the new designs for their apparel were a delightful treat, perfectly balancing function and form. 

 

“So I’ve worked out the itinerary for the summit today, if you want to start going over it,” Morgan started as he pulled out a dry quill to tally the list on his scroll.

 

“Hang on mister...we need to talk,” Robin interrupted. Her tone was stern, but with a twinge of regret. She rose from her desk, leaving the half-finished requisition behind. With great trepidation, she stood before him and carefully mulled her word. “Morgan...I think it would be better if I handled this alone,” she declared.

 

Her son took it as well as she expected. “B-but i’ve been your assistant this whole time!” he protested.

 

She offered him a kind, sympathetic smile. “And you still will be when we get back. But for now you’ve been working yourself ragged for months for this summit. I want you to take some time off and enjoy yourself.”

 

“But mother - I AM enjoying myself!” Morgan insisted. He glanced down, not trusting his own mother’s eyes as he admitted, “I just...want to spend time with you. That’s all.”

 

Robin pulled her son into a warm hug before responding, “You don’t know how happy i am to hear that, sweetie. But my answer is not changing,” she insisted. 

 

The grandmaster pulled away, leaving her now-glum assistant stewing. His mother clicked her teeth before inspiration struck her. She quickly walked back to her desk and took a satchel of gold before offering it to him. “..Tell you what - take this, and get something for yourself...and me, please? 

 

Morgan took the gold and offered her a thin smile. Robin leaned down and left a peck on his cheek before turning him away. “Now go have fun, and leave the dry, boring stuff to your poor ol’ mother,” she told him.

 

He laughed at her pitiful tone before leaving.

\--

 

The rattly old door creaked open, spilling light into the smoky tavern. Morgan slipped inside, out of the sweltering mid-day sun and into the cool retreat. He let himself cool down a bit before looking up to appraise his retreat.

 

The patronage was lacking - a surly bartender, a soldier enjoying his thoughts, and an alluring, raven-tressed woman who was already nursing her drink. He ignored them all and made his way to a table in the corner to unload his gear before grabbing a drink from the bar.

 

The man glanced at his gold with suspicion before shrugging and offering the desired bottle. Morgan took the Feroxi ale back and settled in with his project...

* * *

 

“Odd place to be writing, hmm?”

 

Morgan was snapped out of his current thoughts at the low voice that addressed him. he glanced up to see that it was the lady from before. She’d left her place at the bar and approached him, still cradling the half-finished bottle in her hands.

 

“It’s the only place that’s quiet, and I need to get this done,” Morgan explained. The woman nodded in agreement, well aware of the revelry and festivity that was looming outside their retreat.

 

“I see…” she hummed, taking a swill of her ale. Morgan ignored the rather prominent jiggle from her bosom at the act in favor of eying her rustic apparel.

 

Her attire was simple yet functional. A travler’s cloak lightly bound to her body. Below it, Morgan could make out a plain tank top that pressed a little firmly against her chest. Simple, baggy leggings and worn boots completed her ensemble, making it quite clear what she did.

 

“So what’cha working on here,” she mused, more so to herself. Before Morgan could explain, she was already reaching for the simple title page off to the side. She eyed the rough scratching with mild interest. “ An account of the Valmese War? Can’t say I’ve heard of that one,” she admitted before setting it down.

 

“It’s not finished yet. I’m still getting the accounts from the other Shepherds and giving my own thoughts on all our battles,” he answered. Morgan didn’t intend to boast, but his specific wording and downplaying of his own past gave the mystery maiden pause.

 

“You fought in the Valmese war?” the woman asked. Morgan nodded, prompting her to take another sip before incredulously asking, “A little young, aren’t you?” she asked.

 

Morgan scoffed, already too used to that baseless accusation. Before he could retaliate however, he hear the woman chuckle. “Relax kid, I’m just messing with you. Ylisse is no stranger to sending children to fight for the thrones’ whims after all…”

 

“Historically, that’s true. But Chrom’s forces have been exclusively voluntary, and shied away from conscription,” Morgan countered. The woman hmmed in agreement, prompting him to go on, “And besides, the Shepherds look out for each other, old and young.”

 

“Ooh, one of the Prince’s little band, huh?” she smirked. “Guess they had to step up from brigands at some point.”

 

Morgan scoffed at how she dismissed Chrom’s, no  _ his _  friends. “Haven’t you been paying attention to...well,  _ anything  _  from the last two?” he challenged her.

 

The woman shrugged and chugged more of her drink. She gave a loud belch and half-heartedly wiped her lips before answering. “Not really - been drifting around between the border towns since before the Ylissean invasion - the second one.”

 

“After Plegia kidnapped the Exalt!” he snapped. Morgan instantly regretted his outburst, though she seemed nonplussed by his reaction. Instead she stared at the remaining swill of ale in her bottle before answering.

 

“True, though without any form of explicit confirmation, it’s only a matter of time before history says otherwise, huh?” she smirked. 

 

Morgan said nothing, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. She seemed to finally realize that she’d gone too far and tried to back off. She set down the bottle and offered her hand. “Sorry, that was rude. Let’s start over then - name’s Masha,” she declared.

 

“Morgan,” he said as he clasped her hand. It was a brief handshake before she sat down next to him. His smile was a little strained, but she paid it no mind.

 

“So what brings you to this annoying little hole?” Masha asked. He didn’t answer, but instead pointed to the revelry outside. She put the pieces together from there. “The summit huh? Funny, I wasn’t even aware there was gonna be one here. Otherwise i’d have kept walking until I  passed back into Ylisse.”

 

Morgan’s eyes narrowed at her peculiar wording. “How did they let you in? The whole town has been put on notice about the Summit, and everyone’s being checked as they come in,” he carefully explained.

 

“No one’s gonna stop an old lady that’s only got a single bag to her name,” she winked. “Besides, people that actually live in this little slice of hell know the ways to get in and out of town beyond the gate. Comes in handy for moments  _ exactly  _ like this.”

 

His suspicion wasn’t necessarily sated, even with her revelations. The junior tactician picked up on one crucial detail that she’d omitted earlier. “Wait, you didn’t say you lived here,” he carefully declared.

 

“Yeah, I never said that - I said I would’ve skipped by if I knew there was a high-class farce going on,” Masha reiterated. “Still, nice to come back to a little home every now and again,” she admitted with a shrug.

 

“And who knows? All this pomp and circumstance might wind up leading to some seedy little revelation because some dignitary couldn’t keep it in their pants. THAT would liven things up around here,” Masha grinned.

 

“I’d hope not - the last thing anyone should want from this summit is a blemish like that,” Morgan muttered. She didn’t share his diplomatic desires, and had the audacity to snicker at his idealism.

 

“Oh please, scandal’s in my blood, kid,” she barked with laughter. His naivete was honestly adorable to her. Although he didn’t necessarily take it the same way.

 

“Oh, really?” he challenged. She scoffed and nodded.

 

“Yeah - Daughter of a disgraced scholar and his cute little student, betrothed of a man with delusions of oblivion, and a failure as a…” she stopped herself abruptly, taking Morgan by surprise. For a monet he saw something more cross over her, but it passed just as quickly.  ahh, nevermind,” she shrugged.

 

The young tactician watched her change in demeanor and felt something...familiar, in her attitude. The look on her face was one he’d seen before, on the other side of the mirror. He squirmed under a sudden weight as he tried to muster out, “I-I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, it’s my own crap to deal with,” she insisted, rather harshly in fact. More of the drink when down her gullet before she tried to change the subject, her demeanor restored. “So what’s your gig then? Errand boy to some stuffy noble?”

 

He watched her abrupt shift and filed that away for later. Instead the young tactician focused on the condescending tone in her voice as she presumed him a mere errand boy. He kept his expression neutral and waited for her to slurp down more of her broth before answering.

 

“Deputy Assistant to the Haildom’s Grandmaster,” Morgan proudly declared. The look of shock on Masha’s face was reward enough, but her choking on her own swill made it all the better.

 

“Puh! You shittin’ me?!” she demanded.  _ ‘No way in hell this kid’s already THAT high up the food chain!’ _ the woman glowered. In response, the young man calmly presented his seal ring to her.

 

Masha eyed the ring with suspicion. The brand of the exalt and some minor flair embedded into the piece of jewelry. It was clearly made of fine metals, right down to the band itself. “...Could be fake, but it’s a damn convincing one if that’s the case…” she relented.

 

“Let me just convince you myself,” he declared. The tactician took out the sheet of blank missives and quickly scratched an order before using his seal. He stood up and strolled to the bar, presenting the now-official form to the barman.

 

“...Eh, if it's an order,” the mountainous man shrugged before taking it. He reached up to the highest shelf and pulled out a bottle of the finest wine he could muster before presenting it to Morgan. The now-triumphant lad took his prize and proceeded back to his table and the dumbstruck woman encroaching it.

 

_ tink _

 

Masha took one look at the label and felt her throat go dry. She knew what this was, she knew what the  _ cost _ of this was.  _ ‘T-that’s more than I’ve made since...EVER!’ _ she gawked.  The woman reached up to wipe away the drool now falling from her lips before smiling and declaring, “Morgan, I think I’m starting to like you.”

* * *

 

“So wait wait wait...that REALLY happened?!” Masha asked. 

 

“I saw it myself yeah. Imagine that’s part of why Plegia is still seeking reparations even after what the Grimleal pulled,” Morgan mused. The older woman dumbly nodded as she put down her nearly-empty mug.

 

“Gods, I always assumed it was a farce!” Masha admitted. He couldn’t blame her - what his mother had done was something so outlandish it stretched imagination. His older companion busied herself with pouring a new offering. “Alright so tell me another one,” she insisted as she handed it to him.

 

Morgan took the drink and continued. “Well then we got to the Mila Tree…”

* * *

 

Masha swirled her drink as she took in Morgan’s tales. “Makes sense that Naga’s Voice would be there...I guess,” she mused.

 

“I mean it is a holy place, since its the gravesite of the Divine Dragon Mila. Besides-”

 

“Wait - I’m gonna stop you right there,” Masha cut in. Morgan blinked at her interjection, since he’d gotten used to being the one leading the way.

 

“I uh...Do you disagree?” he asked. The woman shook her head and set down her glass.

 

“Oh no, it’s definitely the remains of the Earth-mother Mila for sure...but that’s not all,” she cryptically started. She leaned in, staring into his eyes as she paused for effect.  _ ‘She reminds me of mother, the way she sometimes puts in some theatrics during our lessons,’ _ Morgan silently mused. “See, in addition to being the gravesite of Zofia’s founder, It’s also the remains of the founder of Rigel. The War-father - Duma.”

 

“The ‘Mila’ Tree is actually two separate ones that grew together into what it is today. Though whether that’s because they were both divine dragons, or the fact they were siblings, that’s still up to speculation...at least last time I checked in,” she added.

 

“How long ago was that?” Morgan asked.

 

“Eh, bout six years, give or take,” Masha admitted. She suddenly clicked her fingers and jotted something down on a spare parchment. She handed it to him and explained herself.

 

“I’m gonna recommend you a book Morgan - check out the  Tree and the Ingle sometime. Lots of interesting tidbits on the aftermath of the unification of Valentia,” she explained. “Also, you  _ miiight _ , see a little forward appended in by yours truly, if you find a copy from about twenty years back,” she winked.

 

“Wait, really?” Morgan gawked. He simply couldn’t take the fetching layabout for a scholar.  _ ‘Then again, she said the same thing about me,’ _ he reminded himself. For her part, Masha took it in stride.

 

“Eh, it’s not as sharp as it used to be, but once upon a time you’d find more than a handful of essays and pennings by Masha of Graane” she boasted.

 

“So why’d you stop?” her new friend asked. He watched her wince, getting a small glimpse beneath the cavalier attitude before it sealed up again.

 

“...Some mistakes were made. Let's leave it at that,” she requested before pouring another mug. “How about a toast - to the future.”

 

Morgan  clanked his mug against her. “To the future,” he declared before joining her in downing more of the brew...

* * *

 

“-How did you?!”

 

“Hah! The look on you face, Morgan,” Masha giggled, sounding more and more like a younger woman. Perhaps it was the brew, or her newfound company. In truth neither cared to speculate why. All that mattered was the scene of total victory facing her side of the board.

 

Morgan looked down at the board in total shock.  _ ‘I-I was so sure that she was gonna fold! How did she manage to turn all this around in one turn?!’ _ he gawked. The young tactician glanced up at the increasingly inebriated lass and the cluster of empty bottles that now surrounded her.

 

“Hmph, one more game,” he insisted. The older woman let him reset the field, cradling her latest drink and smirking all the while. She gave him a single piece, and let her hand linger in his before he pulled away...

* * *

 

“Hey shoo...just putting thish out there, but you pretty cute,” Masha admitted. It wasn’t as far out of left field as one would think. For the past half hour or so their talks had gotten progressively less intellectual or coherent and more...primal. It only made sense, especially since neither one realized that the mead they’d been getting had been switched out for water by an increasingly more concerned barman.

 

The bar had gotten a little more crowded as night began to settle in. If he was lucid, Morgan might’ve recognized some officials from Ylisse, Plegia, and even one or two from Valm. but none of that mattered in their dusty little corner of the room. All that mattered was the strikingly gorgeous older woman that had just complimented him, especially in a way that seemed less than  _ platonic _ .

 

“My mohm did alway s-hay I was a cute kid,” Morgan admitted. His face made it clear that he was beyond any level of inebriation he’d been before. It took him a whole eight seconds to realize what he’d said, and by then she’d picked up the ball and ran with it.

 

“Heh, mhomma’sh boy huh?” Masha smirked from behind her bottle. Morgan blushed and looked away, not trusting his tongue in the face of the sultry cougar. Her fingers wrapper around his chin and pointed him back to her. She’d leaned over the table, presenting her strained tank top just beneath his gaze. “Well lucky you, I’d be delighted to be  _ your _ mohmmy...” she cooed before closing in.

 

The stench of alcohol was heavy on her breath, but Morgan couldn’t begin to care. He relished her taste, suckling the fine lips that had been his grace and damnation for the whole of the day. She shared his vigor, her age and experience giving her the advantage over him as she leaned in for more.

 

A clatter rang out as one of the bottles fell over on the table. Neither one cared, nor did the barman after he confirmed that nothing had broken. It wasn’t his business what those two were doing...provided they didn’t start fucking on the tabletops.  _ ‘I don’t need that crap again,’ _ he scoffed.

 

Masha pulled back first, leaving a bridge of spit between them. Their lidded eyes locked, somehow finding clarity through the blurry, drunken haze. He heard her speak, the symphony of angels pounding in his ears.

 

“Grab your shtuff, we’re leaving.”

* * *

 

Morgan stumbled into her darkened abode, his head swirling with the mixtures of mead, ale, and whatever else they’d been drinking. His bag was thrown haphazardly in a corner, lost into the darkness. The weight on his back shifted as Masha looked up at her utterly trashed apartment. “Just like I left it…” she giggled.

 

Her young friend said nothing as he spun around and pinned her to the nearby wall. The door swung shut, leaving the room at the mercy of the festive lights outside. He paid it no mind as he reared up to attack her exposed neck. “Oooh….someone’s ge- _ hic- _ tting bold,” she cooed.

 

Morgan responded by groping her, squeezing her breasts through the strained top. Masha gasped, arching her back out to give him more access. Her knee pressed between his legs, rubbing against the obvious tent.

 

He pulled away, giving her a chance to reach down and capture his lips. He gladly followed, trying to send his tongue into her mouth. She shimmied down the wall to make it easier for the two, essentially squatting as they made out at the entrance to her apartment.

 

Both were eager to move onto the next step, either in the bedroom or even right there on the spot. Unfortunately, nature called first, forcing her to pull away. “ _ Puah!  _ H-Hang on - I’ve gotta finish some business,” Masha admitted.

 

She brushed past him, unceremoniously dropping her cloak as she went. He watched her go, leaving him with the pleasure of her now-visible crack  between the crack of her skirt and top. The labored sway in her hips helped to keep him primed and eager for more.

 

Morgan took off his own coat, tossing it over the side of the only chair. His boots and gloves followed. 

 

It was sparse, one chair and one table. The walls were equally bare with the exception of an unlit lantern and what looked like a frame. A sudden flash from some magical display outside drew his attention to the contents.

 

It was a simple sketch, but he could clearly make out Masha herself. She looked younger, happier. She was crouched down on one knee, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of what looked like a child. Sadly whoever it was remained obscure thanks to the visible searing that split the sketch in two.

 

“Are you done sightseeing? Or do you want something worth seeing?” Masha called.  Morgan turned back to face her, his query of the picture dying in his throat. She’d taken the time to get more  _ prepared _ , and had gotten rid of anything that would interfere in their impending fun.

 

Never did he think that a plain black pair of underwear could be so...tantalizing. Her finger beckoned him closer, and like a mindless Risen he obeyed. She looked down to examine the damage of her actions...and was quite fine with the results.

 

“Alright, looks like we’ve got a winner,” Masha smirked. she quickly grabbed him and pulled him up for a quick, searing kiss. “Now get in here,” she growled before pulling him across the threshold...

* * *

Morgan groaned, faced with his bitter foe of every night’s refuge - the damned sun.

 

The sheets were stiff - almost scratchy against his skin. The feeling of dried sweat and something...else, covered his body. It took him a few minutes to realize everything wrong.

 

_ ‘T-this isn’t my room!’ _ he thought. Morgan looked around at the simple, slightly disheveled room. It was far more homely than the embassy that he was staying at, and seemed a touch..feminine.

 

“Mmm.”

 

A groan rang out from somewhere beside him. Morgan snapped in that direction, only to clutch his head in pain at the sudden act. He massaged his temples and gritted the pain away. Slowly, he could focus on the matter at hand, and saw what, or rather  _ who _ he was sharing a bed with. “Oh sweet Naga…” he gawked.

 

Even in her utterly ravished state, Masha looked radiant. The was her skin shined in the midday light, the telltale splotches of white that littered her...everything. Morgan was both amazed and aghast to see where he’d marked her the night before.  _ ‘On her...between her...THERE?!’ _

 

He looked down at his own state of disarray. The sheer number of smeared lip marks, scratches, and small bites astounded him. He should’ve been alarmed...but honestly, he just felt too relaxed and content. As if a great weight had been removed from his shoulders.

 

He’d often seen the rapid difference between the frustrated subjects that depart at night and the sudden, almost-serene look the morning after. Morgan wasn’t entirely naive, but he’d underestimated just how  _ good _ it must feel to have a night like the last one. ‘ _ If this what drives Inigo and Virion...I can definitely see why,’ _ he mused.

 

“Ugh….fuck that was one hell of a dream…” Masha groaned. She struggled to rise, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Fucking sun...can’t it ever just be-”

 

Her complaints were cut short as she saw Morgan. Confusion flashed on her mature features as she tried to process what was going on. Realization came and she squeaked out a little, “Oh…”

 

Sorry to disappoint,” Morgan weakly chuckled. When she didn’t join in, he slowly trailed off. “..You are disappointed, aren’t you?”

 

“No, can’t say I am,” Masha admitted with a smile. It was a thin one, but surprisingly warm and welcoming. It quickly took on a certain tease as she stated, “Though I think you’ve been lying to me - no way in hell a virgin can do... _ all _ that.”

 

Morgan felt a swell of pride, followed by a splittling headache that dropped him back to the sheets. "Oh gods it hurts…” he groaned.  


 

“Heh, first time?” she asked. Morgan looked at her with a clear look of annoyance. His gaze faltered as he saw her wonderful, heaving breasts and the various marks that he’d left on her. “Not like that smartass- with a hangover. First time?”

 

“Yess...oh Naga’s tits!”

 

“Language!” she laughed. Hearing such salty, sacrilegious slurs from the straight-laced young official tickled her in ways she’d forgotten for years now. “Ahh...Don’t worry, you get used to them. Sadly.”

 

Morgan moaned pitfully, eliciting the mature maiden to console him. Her weary hand reached up to stroke his hair, mustling it in a way that was rather contrary to their lack of decorum and dress. “For now I guess we’ll just have to find you something else. Think you can walk?”

 

He groaned at her continued interrogation. Still, he tried to move his limbs, and once he could he gave her a small nod.  “Well that makes one of us,” she told him.

 

Morgan wasn't ammused by that.

 

“Hey don’t be giving me that - _you're_ not the one who got run through the wringer,” she protested. As if on cue, her bed groaned and leaned to the side beneath them, precariously close to outright collapsing. “...I think the Halidom owes me a new bed,” Masha chuckled.

 

“Anyway, I should have a tonic in the kitchen - green bottle, smells like rancid eggs, tastes about the same,” she explained. Morgan tiredly nodded before trying to stand up. Masha said nothing as she watched her young fling stumble out the door. “Heh...what a guy,” she smiled.

* * *

Morgan blindly groped around her small kitchen, looking for the indicated tonic. “Couldn’t tell me where it’d be, Masha?” he growled.

 

Eventually he found a trio of the desired brews in a cupboard. He tried to grab one of the bottles, doing his best not to drop it by mistake. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his head and quickly pulled out the cork.

 

“Pwah! That smells...well she wasn’t kidding,” he sighed. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he looked down at the seemingly benign brew. “You know, I was expecting this thing to be bubbling or something,” Morgan mused.

 

He’d spent some time with Tharja, learning the basics of hexing and creating tonics. She’d warned him that the more innocent a potion looked, the more dangerous its effects could be.  _ ‘Maybe I should just let this run its course,’ _ he pondered.

 

Morgan downed it anyway.

 

He dropped the bottle as his hand reached up to his now-burning throat. “F-fucccck it hurts!” Morgan coughed. He rushed over to a nearby flask of water, accidentally knocking into the coat closet and jarring it open. 

 

Morgan pulled the cork out and drowned the whole flask, begging for the cool water to wash away the foul taste. “Puah! T-Tharja, i’m sorry for doubting you,” he panted.

 

He was getting ready to put the flask down when he saw something in the now-open closet that gave him pause. “Is that?” he narrowed his eyes.

 

Now slightly more alert, the tactician crept over to the closet. The contents within were mostly beyond his concern, even the more... _ racy _ apparel. Instead he was fixed on a  familiar looking garment, one that hadn’t seen use in quite some time. “W-why is tha-aaat?!” he gawked at his discovery.

 

It was black cloak, one that looked disturbingly familiar to Morgan. Gold cuffs, purple lining, a trio of distinctive eyes down the arms. Morgan desperately tried to rationalize what he was seeing.  _ It kind of looks like the one Mother and I...wait.’ _

 

Morgan flinched as a sudden weight fell on his back. He could feel her hard nipples poking between his shoulders, sending jolts through his stunned body.

 

“You know if you wanted to see my best you could just...ask…” Masha’s jovial tone died down as she realized what Morgan had found. “Oh, that one,” she sighed.

 

“I know what it looks like, but trust me. That was a lifetime ago,” she explained. Her voice was solemn, though there was the twinge of bitterness and melancholy.

 

“The Grimleal...you know something like this is for the highest echelons, the highest and most reverend in the cult of the Fellgod,” Masha lectured. She let a small, wistful smile form before continuing, “But this - this is different, trust me.”

 

“Way before the Fell Dragon’s resurrection, I had my life then... and then after the Grimleal, I had another one after that. A happy one, with the only thing that matters to me in the world,” Masha sighed. Her hands gently slid past Morgan’s shoulder’s to caress the tiny garment.

 

Unbeknownst to her, the young tactician was panicking. Even in his pained state, he could quickly put everything together...and the results did NOT bode well for him.  _ ‘No. No. No. No no no no nononononononooooooooo…’ _

 

Masha went on, fondly tracing the cloak’s stitching. “She grew out of this pretty fast you know - I’d barely had time to give her my old one before things...before  _ they  _ found us,” her voice turned sour.

 

Morgan didn’t look back, but even in his state of shock he knew what was happening. The way her full breasts quivered with every labored breath, the sting of her nails as the grazed his skin. Whatever memories she was reliving...they were not pleasant ones.

 

He should know - he carried more than a few himself.

 

Masha was quiet for long, far too long for either’s sake of comfort. When at last she spoke, her voice was limp, lacking the sardonic wit or brazen fire that it had carried before. “Morgan...It’s been so long since I really opened up to anyone. I’ve been a coward...i’ve done her wrong.”

 

“I was so sure she was dead that I shut myself off from the world - dragged my useless, miserable ass from town to town and drowned myself away,” she bitterly regaled. Countless nights of stumbling into a dive bar to trade gold made off parlor tricks and novice study flashed in her mind as she continued. “I was ready to drop dead, but too much of a coward to do it myself.”

 

“...Until I met you.”

 

Masha’s hands glided up Morgan’s chest until she had him in a half-armed hug. She leaned in, nuzzling her cheek against his nape. “You’re a lot like me at your age, Morgan - passionate and hungry for knowledge, yet still a gentle soul at heart.. A touch naive, but still brilliant. Only difference is you’ve been through hell...but you didn’t crack.”

 

“Seeing that...well maybe I can join you. Clean myself up, get back what I lost,” she decided. Her nails drew in until she had him in a firm hold, treating the young tactician as the lifeline she sorely needed. “I think it's worth a chance - for her sake.”

 

Morgan was hyperventilating, barely coherent of all the heartfelt declarations Masha had profused, especially to this mysterious lost girl.  _ ‘Please don’t be mother. Please don’t be mother. Please, Sweet merciful Naga and fair Lady Tiki - Don’t. Be. Mother.’ _

 

“And who knows - maybe one day I’ll see her again - my little songbird…my dear, sweet Robin.”

 

_ ‘Aaaaaand that’s it. Thanks for trying, Naga. Goodbye world.’ _

 

“Hm?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really plan for this to have a sequel, though who knows - it was fun to write, so if people like it I might be willing to accommodate. Anyway, be sure to leave a comment and have a Happy Holidays and very Merry Christmas :)


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